


Apricot Brandy

by nianeyna



Category: Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-26
Updated: 2007-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nianeyna/pseuds/nianeyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz has his starts. We all know that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apricot Brandy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [my livejournal](http://nianeyna.livejournal.com/4077.html).

“Ah, here’s a treat for you,” Dutiful says. “Imported from Jamaillia. It’s wonderful stuff.”

The drinks are poured into companionable quietude. Dutiful raises his glass. “To the family here at Withywoods,” he says.

“Hear, hear,” we respond in unison.

I meet my husband’s eyes across the table and he smiles at me as he raises his glass to his lips. He takes a polite sip.

And the warm, after-dinner mood in the room is shattered.

Fitz chokes, gasps, and sets his glass down blindly and with more force than is necessary, slopping golden liquid over his hand and onto the crisp white tablecloth. He turns slowly towards Dutiful. The movement seems to pain him; our shared smile of moments before might never have been. I stare at his profile, confused and a little frightened by his behavior. His face - he looks as if someone has stabbed him, and he can’t quite figure out why.

“This,” he says to Dutiful, his voice low and shaking in the now silent room. “This is apricot brandy.”

“Well - yes –” Dutiful stammers, as nonplussed as the rest of us.

“Excuse me,” Fitz whispers. He pushes back his chair abruptly, and flees the room.

No one moves for a full ten seconds. “Does anyone know what that was all about?” Elliania asks finally, sounding bewildered. No one answers. Kettricken sits staring at the door Fitz left by, lips pursed.

“Well,” Chivalry ventures after another moment or two, “it’s very good brandy.”

“Indeed,” Dutiful sighs. This seems to dispel the tension somewhat, and conversation resumes. The talk is rather subdued, however, and presently I feel the press of my duties as a hostess.

“Perhaps it is time we retired for the night,” I suggest.

I lose myself in the duties of the house for a space, but after everyone is settled I find myself standing in the darkened dining room. My husband has retreated to his study and locked the door. I look at the stain where apricot brandy spilled onto the tablecloth, but I don’t really see it.

Fitz has his starts. We all know that. No one blames him, really, though it does make for some awkward moments. Like tonight.

I sigh and shake my head, wondering what it could possibly be about apricot brandy to set him off like that.

I suppose I’ll never know.


End file.
